June 4, 2018

dumping

On days like this, I have to remind myself that I'm one of the lucky ones: I don't get the GI symptoms that go with dumping.

And I'm lucky that I'm a dumper, post Roux-en-Y. About half of us aren't and then willpower has to continue to play a starring role. I don't eat sugar. I don't have a choice.

Today, I'm not feeling lucky. I'm feeling baffled. No, I'm not, not really. I'm actually pissed off, because what I wish I was baffled by, I'm not. I've started dumping off of carb-heavy meals instead of just sugar. I want that to not be true, and to be all, "Why in the world did this happen? I didn't even do anything!" But I know. I know.

An Arby's slider. The nasty buffalo chicken one. Mostly bread, with a measly bit of protein in there. And a Choc-Zero square for dessert. This was not a giant slice of raspberry-compote cheesecake, nor was it a salad-tossing bowl of peanut butter Captain Crunch. If I'm going to get sick off of a meal three hours after eating it, I want it to be due to something amazingly sinful and decadent, something that would make me deserve it, and not a god-damned stale fast food bun that I've had twelve times before without incident.

It's the unpredictable bit that gets to me. I don't have a working list of "stay away from this shit" because nothing behaves the same way twice.

But again, I'm lucky. I only have the hypoglycemia, or "late dumping", as they call it. I carry glucose tablets with me now and I've learned to recognize the onset of the dumping within about ten seconds, which is a good thing, as I have about thirty seconds between that point in time and the point when I'm sweating like forty whores in a metal mailbox, weak, and gibberish-spittle incoherent. A co-worker handed me a peppermint in the middle of this episode and I couldn't figure out how to unwrap it, and when I did, I couldn't make my hands do it. I go that weak and stupid. Usually I can come out of it in five or ten minutes, but today, it took twenty.

< whine > I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK TO EATING LOW-CARB BECAUSE I LOVE WAFFLES AND CRACKERS AND BAGELS AND ALL BREADY THINGS RIGHT NOW BECAUSE EVERYTHING ELSE HURTS TOO MUCH AND THEY MAKE ME FEEL HAPPY AND LESS HURT-Y AND I WANT THEM. </whine >

So now it isn't just the scale that's displeased. My body is turning on me, too. To be fair, I drank alcohol the night after Chester died, and I know good and well that it inhibits glycogenesis and the Cori cycle for a couple of weeks - I'm apparently sensitive to that - and that I'm not supposed to drink, even the scant slosh of honey bourbon I added to my coffee. *thinkie face* Maybe that's why I was mowing the lawn Saturday and suddenly thought it would be so cool and wonderful if I just lay down in the grass and went to sleep.

So I do deserve it, with or without the Captain Crunch. I hate my liver. I don't want to be friends with it. It sucks.